Nathan Kanvick

Goodbye

This blog and this character study no longer interest me. In this process, I have developed poor Nathan into becoming a whiny little bitch. So thus I’m leaving this operation go. If you so wish to still contact me, drop a question (non-anon) for me, and I’ll send you my email — of the real me. Not Nathan Kanvick, for Nathan is not real. He is a character.

Best of luck to you in life, and perhaps our paths may cross in the future.

Plink a-plunking down the drain—

quick, catch the falling rings! But

watch out for the garbage disposal

with its spinning claws; and jaws spread

wide-open as you let forth a scream.

Well, you may have lost your fingers,

but at least you have your rings.

Still eight hours left

of this awful year, and what do I have to show for it? A back-stabbing ex trying to manipulate my relations, commitment to five different plays, and a weird half-love affair to a ginger with intense daddy issues. Only this would happen to a writer. But still this year’s brought me a lot of insight. I now know where I want to go and what I want to do with myself. This year’s brought my three fantastic and irreplaceable friendships (one of which to a woman I’d convinced myself I hated), and I’ve received all sorts of promises for the future. So here I am, sitting at my desk in my little workroom with a half-finished painting series, new books for my occult studies, and a stuffed conjoined-twins-elephant. Here goes, 2012. I whether the bullshit of last year. Throw your best my way, and we’ll see how much stronger I’ve grown.

It Is You

You asked me why you. Why I’ve fallen for you. Your exact words: “I mean, there’s hot guy,” and you indicated me, “and not guy.” At the time I couldn’t answer you. But now I realize what it is, what my attraction is. You are him. You are what I want. Your optimism, your outlook, your complexity, it all fascinated me. I want to know everything about you, from your past to your future to your now. You’re a spiritual being, and of all people, you choose me for guidance in all things. Of all people, I choose you you hope and purpose. By twisted means you give me purpose, and I feel that purpose is to be wherever you choose to place me. I am your guardian. I am your shade. And I can give you everything you’ve ever wanted from a relationship.

Love has no sexual orientation. If you felt the passion I burn for you, perhaps this would seem more conceivable. But you’re off doing other things with other people while I spend every second of my life wishing the best for you and finding ways to make life easier. All for you.

So what traits of yours attract me? Your optimism. Your infinite hope on life, yet you still have a bunch cord strapped to reality, to keep you from falling over the edge. Your willingness to sacrifice yourself for art, embedded in your wild passions for your craft. My god, nothing will absorb me to another as fast as your raw passion. I adore your higher being, your own personal code of morality, your individual-yet-considerate approach to life–all this wrapped up in a thick and confident binding of self-certainty and known identity.

I’d like to see your current object of affection see any of this in you.

Then again, I’d like to hear these words come out of my mouth to your ears, but I’ve not the gall to express it. I don’t believe it would even make a positive difference. You’d just feel fucked over. I’d feel more ashamed and broken.

It’s time to shut this project down.

Cancer

I have a mild secret
I should’ve told you
        at first glance;
a mild folly to my physique—
it’s nothing really,
        and perchance
you, too, can share my terminal
illness, this atrophy of tissue:
        My Cancer.

It started in my lungs at first
by pure inspiration — my breath
a-thirsting for your touch, you
walking into sight, this cleft
merged against my aching atrium,
and severed my ventricles in two;
between my lungs, my heart’s a-swell
as this cancer grew and grew.

The doctors cannot cure it;
the nurses know no way
to dull this aching heartache
as it echoes through the day.
The pharmacists have no drugs,
the medicine man knows no piece
of plant or herb ideal enough
to cure me of release,

except… to consume the source
of radiation — you, my illness
all murmuring for your flesh,
my thoughts stagnant; would fresh
air vindicate my thoughts
of betray all my beliefs?
Yet dare I be a thief and
make Mercury upon my liberation…

Please ignore my rambles,
my mind’s a-shambles;
were this not such a gamble
I’d tell you the truth.
I fear you’ll see me broken,
for I’ve so much unspoken—
I’m not your interest token
when Cancer makes me aloof.

Awh, could I be your lover; or
am I bound to be your shade; more-
so bound me in my grave
if I am bound to be enslaved
by my newly-found disease—
this Cancer in my soul,
it’s growing faster, stronger;
as you grow further, faded…

But halt, but halt, dear heartbeat!
I can only live so often a year.
Innevitably I’ll die so soft without,
Without you here; and I’ll go on
beyond this world; when the
cancer takes my arms and legs.
I’ll learn to stand on my own
two feet, strong, as any other

human being, with three swords
lodged in his chest, here. My
secrets all abreast, dear. Why
must this handicap wear no silk
gloves to sooth this pain? Oh,
I fear that my brain is lost
Beneath Cancer’s gnashing teeth.
I’ve no more thoughts underneath,

except this dull, neurotic roar
of all my cups turning about.
Your cancer-caused epiphany
will occur nevermore, I’m sure.
Hear me out; ignore me
as you so often do.
My cancer’s cause and cure
        will forever be you.

I have a mild secret
but the cancer’s taken my tongue.
And my hands as well
(Oh, isn’t it swell!)
are bound to be taken at
        any moment,
     from revealing to you
               my—

I just told a man that I love him. He’s straight. But he looked me right back in the eyes and told me that of all people in this world, he hopes the most to someday have feelings for me. And he added, “Someday soon.” And just like that, the weight of everything lifted far and away, and for the first time in over a year, I felt truly happy.

I’ve this poem, though I’m not sure if I should post it now or save it for this anthology. Damn.

I wish to unravel myself at the veins for you to view it all. Awh, Hyacinth, can’t you give Apollo a chance? I promise to never bludgeon you with a discus if you so do…

Fragment XXI.

I’ve been decapitated.
My heads fallen right off.
And my heart’s running rapid
beneath the dream-licked moon.

I beg for some answer.
My mind caught at the spine.
While my bloods leaking fluid
Beneath your counter-perceptive sight.

Am I just an angel? or a harking
At you’re door? Please answer me
soundly, here as I writhe on
the floor, polishing pleas…

It’s cancer, really, the way my
Cardiac disks have grown so thick,
and my mind growing tumors
who only think of you here–

but while you’re around, in sight,
I shut down, as a romantic might
in the presence of upholding glory–
of beautiful nature, and tis my gory

Nature to grow against you. Oh hear
Me now, this is my confession– my chest on the verge of collapse… I
Cannot last another moment with

a blooming in my heart.

Fragment XXXIV.

It’s nothing, really
when I look so low,
just perception of life
and a life you’d not known
had I just kept my mouth shut,
kept away from the social websites,
never made myself speak of my sadness.
And really you needn’t worry; it’s all a façade.

For my sake! do you really believe this?
It’s a perfectly complacent lie!
I’m dying here, lover– dying…
But fear this all as it were.
I’m just looking for help.
Searching for hope.
Needing help.
And hope.